Brothers
by north-north-west
Summary: AU: "Ye know," slurred the drunken Scot, "Brothers! We're like brothers. We're all frae different places, boot we're a family." When Arthur Kirkland, an exchange student from England, arrives in flat 37B, he meets his new roommates, a drunken Irishman, a rowdy Scot and a sheep-loving Welshman. In the months to follow, they become a sort of strange family.
1. Chapter 1

Brothers: A Hetalia Fanfiction

Chapter One

Arthur Kirkland took a moment to catch his breath before knocking on the door. After paying the cabbie a ridiculous amount to bring him from the airport to his new flat and dragging his bags up countless flights of stairs, he needed a moment to compose himself. He ran his fingers through his dirty blonde hair, straightened out his jumper. He tried to examine his reflection on the door handle of flat 37B, but it was too rusted over to even reflect the buzzing fluorescent hallway light. He supposed he shouldn't have expected better accommodations, after all the University was providing the international students with housing, but the building looked as if it was so much as leaned on it would topple over like a house of cards.

'Well,' Arthur thought to himself, straightening up and reaching for the handle, 'I may as well go in.'

His internal dialogue was interrupted as the door swung open to reveal a confused looking boy with a mess of dark curls and freckles sprinkled across his nose.

"Right, who're you then?" Arthur recognized the accent: Welsh.

"Why hello! I'm Arthur Kirkland, I'm meant to be staying in flat 37B?"

The Welsh boy nodded slightly and stepped back from the door to allow Arthur into the flat.

It was small, just one room with a hallway leading off, with another one or two doors off that. There was a small sitting room with a couch and a television. The floor was visible through the holes in a ratty carpet, and the coffee table was stained with what appeared to be a variety of liquids. There was a door leading from the sitting room, but it was taped over with duct tape and had a large sign reading "Do Not, Under any Circumstances, Enter" Attached was a small kitchen, with an oven from which Arthur noticed clouds of black smoke were rising. A tall man with the reddest hair Arthur had seen in his life had taken off his t-shirt and was using it to fan the flames out the open window, muttering under his breath in a thick Scottish accent that it was lucky the fire alarm was broken.

"Right then, this is the flat then," said the dark-haired boy nervously, "My name's Owain, that's Aiden, and Patrick's the other flatmate, but he's gone out somewhere..."

He was cut off by Aiden, who had just noticed Arthur's arrival, and enthusiastically made his way through puffs of black smoke, pulled back on his T-shirt and stood beaming behind the shorter Welsh boy.

"Hoo's it goin?" He grinned, and reached to shake hands. Arthur could barely catch what he'd said through the thick Scottish accent.

"Er hello, I'm Arthur. Arthur Kirkland"

"English, ur ye? Weel ye shoods hae nae problem sharin' a room wi' uir wee Owain haur. he's frae somewhaur aroond thaur an aw." He grinned at Owain jokingly, but the Welsh man's face had turned the same shade as Aiden's hair.

"I am not bloody English and you don't forget it!" Owain snarled. Aiden looked slightly taken a back, but then swiftly pushed the smaller boy out the door.

"Ye go an pick up 'at takeaway we ordered an' i'll jist shaw Arthur aroond th' flat" He called in some semblance of cheeriness, leaving the fuming boy in the hallway.

"My luggage was out there!" Arthur cried, realizing he'd left his largest suitcase in the hall.

He turned to Aiden, who had pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He offered one to Arthur, who politely declined.

"Ah wooldnae worry yerself abit yer luggage, we'll jist lit Owain calm doon an' gang back it thaur tae gie it, aw reit? Ah can shaw ye aroond a bit while we're waitin'," he began walking into the flat, gesturing for Arthur to follow him, "This haur is th'kitchen, jist ignair th' smoke thaur, it's fine! See, when we speart patrick tae gae shoppin', we meant tae buy food as well as beer, nae 'at am complainin', but Owain seemed tae want whit he called 'actual food', he's funay like 'at, sae Ah offered tae cuik heem some supper, seein' as Ah am an excellentcuik an' aw, but it didne gang exactly as planned."

"I can see that…" muttered Arthur, amazed at the Scot's ability to just talk without anyone else contributing a word to the conversation.

"Ain thes is mah bedroom, Patrick's room is jist aff 'at.," Arthur peered in a small room darkened by the Scottish flag hanging over the only window, there was a door left ajar leading to what just be the room of the mysterious fourth flat mate.

"Yoo're reit doon haur," Aiden continued, "Yoo'll be sharin' a room wi' Owain, hoop that's okay. As ye main hae noticed, he sure looks bonnie but dornt mess wi' heem unless ye want tae hae a cranky welsh man hittin' ye wi' leeks when yoo're tryin' tae sleep… nae 'at Ah wood ken. Speakin' ah cranky welshmen, th' hallway's probably safe if ye want tae git yer things. Ah'll be in th' kitchen sortin' oot th' smoke!" he grinned madly and took the last drag from his cigarette before putting it out against the window pane of the open window at the end of the hallway and discarded it amongst the dying flowers in the window box.

After the tour of his new home by the whirlwind of a Scot, Arthur was glad for the peace and quiet of unpacking his luggage. The room wasn't enormous but it wasn't too small either. Owain had apparently already settled in on one side, the walls and bed were hung with red and green, and a picture of sheep hung above the bed. Lying sloppily folded on top of the duvet was a pair of pajamas patterned with sheep, and his cupboard was left open, showing an assortment of knitted wool jumpers and rugby shirts. This guy clearly liked sheep. Arthur shrugged, it wasn't his place to judge, and there were worse things.

He went about neatly removing each item of clothing from his luggage, refolding it, and placing it in its proper drawer. He was going to be here a full school year, so he'd packed a good amount of things. He was a bit wary still of attending this American university, though he had already met his roommates and they didn't seem too entirely horrible. Not yet anyways. The international students were given a flat by the university, which explained why there were no actual Americans living in the flat, or likely the entire complex. Arthur was a bit disappointed. The only American accent he'd heard so far was the angry taxi driver. He sighed, folded his last jumper and lay down on the bare mattress of his new bed. There would be plenty of time for that later, he supposed.

As nice as the quiet in the room was, when Arthur heard a knock at the front door he decided it would be in his best interest to be sociable and go out to see who it was. As he wandered into the kitchen, Aiden called out to him,

"Ach guid, Arthur cood ye git that?"

The redhead was almost entirely obscured by puffs of black smoke still rising from the oven, though he peered out to gesture toward the door. The combination of the red hair and the billowing smoke gave the impression that His head was actually on fire. The Scott coughed slightly and Arthur wondered if it was a result of the smoke or the cigarette that dangled carelessly from Aiden's teeth.

There was another knock on the door, and Arthur went to pull it open.

He was greeted by an exasperated outburst in a very Irish accent.

"Thank god you opened up! I can't hold him any longer! Hey who're you?"

A fair skinned girl with a mess of curly dark red hair stood supporting a boy of about her age. Even though he didn't appear to be conscious, the resemblance between the two was striking. They had the same thin build and flushed cheeks that stood out against an otherwise fair complexion.

"Ah ArthurAh see yoo've mit Erin an' Patrick." Aiden appeared behind Arthur, startling him.

"Ah you must be the other room mate, help me carry my brother to his bed!" directed the small Irish girl, who Arthur assumed was Erin. Arthur hesitantly went to the boys other side and hoisted him into his shoulder, helping the girl carry her brother into the darkened room Arthur had glanced in before.

He was very light, Arthur noticed, and the two deposited the semi conscious Irishman onto his bed with relative ease.

Erin sighed and found a blanket which she carelessly threw over her brother.

"I'm Erin, and this is Patrick."

"Arthur Kirkland. A pleasure."

"English are ye?" She glared at him,"Eh well it would be more of a pleasure if my brother hadn't decided to play drinking games with the Russian kid downstairs early in the afternoon, but that's how these things always seem to work, no?" she sighed, her expresson becoming no more pleasant.

"Erm, yes?" Arthur was at a loss for what to say and was glad when He heard the door swing open and heard the voices of Owain and Aiden in the kitchen.

They reentered a kitchen that smelled slightly less of burning things and more of what Owain had brought back for dinner, wrapped in plastic containers on the counter top.

Aiden was attempting to dig out sufficient utensils for three people from the drawers, and Owain was flipping through the channels on the TV.

"Oo" he exclaimed, "I love rugby!" he grabbed an entire container of what appeared to be curry and a fork from Aiden's mismatched pile and flopped down on the couch to watch.

Aiden chuckled.

"Are you laughing at me?" Owain looked back at the chuckling Scott, wide eyed with what appeared to be genuine concern.

"Nah, it's jist...Ah wood try tae nae poke fin at ye fur every Welsh stereotypes thaur is, but it's jist sae easy!"

"Just because I like sheep doesn't mean..."

"You liking sheep is a bit of an understatement"

Aiden laughed, grabbed his own bucket of curry, and sat down next to Owain.

"Yer welcome ter stay, Erin." he winked at his roommates sister who just scowled back.

"I'd rather not." she frowned, " just take care of Patrick for me." she sighed and exited through the still open front door, shutting it loudly behind her.

Aiden whistled, " Someone's in a bad muid." he chuckled, "Looks like its jist us 'en! Arthur tak' a seat!"

Arthur picked up the last takeaway box and a fork and say down on the opposite end of the couch from Owain and Aiden.

"Hey! This has only got rice!"

Aiden looked up from the television.

"Weel that's cause yer supposed tae mix 'em!" to prove his point, he took a spoonful of curry from Owain's box and shoved it unceremoniously in his mouth.

Arthur sighed and went to the kitchen. His roommates may be uncivilized, but he certainly was not. He made himself up a plate of food, cautiously taking spoonfuls from the two on the couch, who were too engrossed in the rugby to notice, and sat down at the table with a steaming cup of tea to enjoy his meal.

His meal was pleasant enough, if he ignored the smoke still lingering in the nearby kitchen. He felt a sudden wave of tiredness come over him. Jetlag, he supposed. It was Arthur's first time so much as leaving England, and he guessed that the flight combined with his nerves plus the time change was finally taking its toll. When he was finished, he leaned back in his chair and took up his cup of tea, sipping it calmly. Aiden and Owain had finally stopped screaming at the television and were watching the game intently. The smoke was almost completely out of the kitchen. All was in a semblance of calm in flat 37B.

Arthur's teacup went flying as he jumped at a pounding sound on the front door.

"What the bloody hell…"

Even the two on the couch turned to watch as Arthur opened the front door to reveal a blonde boy with an untamed cowlick and wearing a bomber jacket grinning widely in the hall outside.

"Hello, foreign exchange students, I am Alfred F. Jones, your ambassador from the US and our University here to welcome you to our excellent school!" he threw his arms out enthusiastically, " Oh, it looks like you spilled your tea…"

AN:

Hello there! If you've gotten this far, thank you!

For those who're interested I'll take this time to kinda explain what my plans are for this fic. It's going to be a multi chapter fic, and I have a general idea of the plot, and I'm going to work on the specifics as I go along. It'll detail Arthur's adventures living with the various members of the UK, and also with Alfred and other "foreign exchange students" at the school. It will likely include more OC's, sorry about that- I generally am not a fan of OCs (which sounds very hypocritical) But then, in Hetalia they're all countries, so even the OCs are based on history and stereotypes. If you've gotten this far, please tell me what you think! I welcome and feed back or ideas for where you think things should go.

Also, to avoid confusion, the character's names:

England: Arthur

Scotland: Aiden

Wales: Owain

Ireland: Erin

N. Ireland: Patrick

...and I can assume you all know who Alfred is

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Hello, anyone who's reading this, just wanted to say thank you so much for all the people who reviewed/followed this story, I was really surprised by all the people following it straightaway, so thank you for that! Also, just wanted to say sorry about the long gap between chapter one and this one, a few days after I posted chapter one, my laptop completely broke, and I was stuck without a way to type anything in England for another 3 weeks. I'm home now and I've got a new laptop, so without further ado ~

Chapter 2:

"Do you need any help there?"

"No I am absolutely fine cleaning up all of this tea with no help whatsoever from any of you lazy imbeciles."

"All right then!" Alfred, the enthusiastic American boy, set his feet up on the table, leaning back on the sofa he'd invited himself to sit on, sharing a drink with Arthur's new room mates, Ian and Owain. He'd come in just to "welcome" the boys to their flat. As he has explained, he was the student who had been chosen to help the foreign students settle in, and was going around to each flat to do so, as this was the night by which all the students should have arrived. Somehow, though, since his entrance fifteen minutes before he, Ian and Owain had ended up on the sofa sipping the beverages their currently indisposed Irish roommate had filled the refrigerator with. Arthur was left on the floor with a cloth, wondering how one cup of tea could possibly spill out onto every surface in the entire front room, and muttering about thick headed Americans who didn't catch sarcasm.

"Are you talking about me?"

Arthur, his eyes shadowed by exhaustion, was now wiping the "Do Not, Under any Circumstances, Enter" sign that was stuck to the door with duct tape. He spun around to face the American, looked at the wide, exuberant grin, and decided it wasn't even worth getting angry. Someone else could bloody well clean up the tea.

"No, no I'm not talking about you. I'm going to bed. Do bloody know what time it is in England right now?" He stormed off to the bedroom he was now sharing with Owain, leaving the other three sitting in silence.

"Was it something I did?" asked Alfred.

Owain glanced up from the tellie, his head tilted slightly to the side, "You know, if I had to guess, I'd say it was something you didn't do."

***

Arthur woke up at 7:13 AM. Cursing the change in time zones and his inability to sleep, he pulled himself out of bed. Owain was sleeping peacefully in his sheep-patterned pajamas on the other side of the room. Arthur tiptoed slowly outside, closing the door behind him. Sun was streaming through the open hallway window, making Arthur squint as he made his way into the kitchen for his morning cup of tea.

There was a boy sitting at the table, sipping a cup of tea. Arthur noted he looked relatively perky, which was a surprise, as he recognized him as the third roommate- Patrick - who'd been passed out drunk the evening before.

"Mornin'" The Irish boy sipped his tea, before realizing his mistake, "Wait! Who are you?"

Arthur looked down at his pajamas - he was in no state to meet anyone - he sighed, "I'm Arthur Kirkland, the fourth flatmate."

"English?"

"Is that a problem?"

"No, no, it might be for my sister... I mean, no I have nothing against the English." Arthur noticed that the boy had a nervous way of speaking, pausing and then spilling out long strings of words.

"Yes, I met her yesterday. Your sister, I mean."

"Oh no... you didn't see me? When did you get in? That's embarrassing."

"No worries, we've all been there," He smiled what he hoped was kindly at the boy, walking around the table to switch on the kettle. He was in a considerably better mood than he'd been last night, and it was getting better at the prospect of a nice hot cup of tea.

He blushed, then jumped out of his chair, as if just realizing something incredibly important "Sorry, I haven't introduced myself," He held out a freckled hand, "Names's Patrick, I'm from Northern Ireland."

Arthur shook his hand, impressed by the boy's gentlemanly manners, "Pleasure."

Patrick drew back, pushing his light strawberry-blonde hair from his eyes, "The kettle's boiling," he cocked his head to one side.  
Arthur made his cup of tea in silence, and sat down next to the Irish boy, attempting to make conversation.  
"So, why does the door say 'Do Not, Under any Circumstances, Enter'?" He asked casually, sipping hs tea.  
Patrick blinked, "It was that American, the one who's supposed to be in charge of this place."  
Arthur groaned, "Met him last night as well."  
"Yea? Well anyways, he explained it to me when I first got here. I was here first, by the way, then Liam and Owain. Well you know how we're in flat 37 B." He emphasized the 'B', "Well turns out there used to be just flat 37, but there wasn't enough room in the building, so Alfred just taped over that door, and now there's us and I believe there's a bunch of Scandinavians in the next room, we occasionally hear ABBA playing. Ian usually bangs on the door and it stops, but otherwise they're fine neighbors."  
"That explains that then...why the sign though?"  
"I dunno... came home one night and it was there, Ian wouldn't tell me why. Feel free to ask him, but no guarantees you'll get an answer."  
Their conversation was interrupted by a groggy Welsh boy, his curly hair a mess, still in his pajamas, entering slowly from the hall.  
"Morning Patrick, Arthur."  
"Hiya-  
"Morning."  
"Have you both eaten breakfast?"  
Owain went over to the stove, now completely clear of smoke, and by some magic in working order.  
"No, we haven't"  
"Well then, would you both like an omelette?"

AN: This seems like a random place to end (unless you get the joke? gavinandstaceyiseatingmylife pleasehelpme) So this chapter was kinda finalizing the introductions, next chapter things will begin to happen. Thank you so much if you've read this far! Please tell me what you think.

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	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Why the bloody hell do you call it soccer?"

"Soccer? I'll explain soccer when you explain cricket. And crumpets. What the hell are crumpets?" Alfred shoved another doughnut into his sighed.

The American boy had let himself into the flat this morning - apparently his older brother ran the complex and therfore had keys to each room - shouting "Good morning,

English dudes! I brought you doughnuts!". Luckily, Arthur was the only one home at the time, Aiden and Owain had disappeared before he'd even woken up, and Patrick had

gone to see his sister. As it was torentially raining outside, Arthur decided to make a nice morning of just sitting in the flat, sipping tea and re-reading an English

classic - Harry Potter - where he would not be judged by others claiming to have more "mature" taste in literature.

After explaining that the other three flatmates were not, in fact, English - something he wasn't quite sure the American boy had actually grasped - and asking how he'd

gotten into the flat in the first place - and wishing he hadn't for now he would live in constant fear of an invasion of Alfred's overwhelming American-ness - Arthur

had decided that just because he was here and had gone to al lthe trouble of buying them doughnuts that he may as well sit down with Alfred and eat one before shooing

him out.

They'd be talking for two hours. Arthur was starting to get used to the American's loud bursts of excitement, and realizing he may not be all bad, as he'd assumed the

first night they'd met. Although it was getting a bit tiresome having to explain British slang to the poor boy.

"Crumpets are the height of British cuisine! They're like muffins, only with little holes and a bit spongier."

"That sounds disgusting."

"I assure you, they are not. Some day, I will make you some, and you'll realize how brilliant they are. Much better than these American doughnuts!"

"That's why you've eaten three of them, right?" Alfred grinned cheekily.

"I bloody well have not! I ate the chocolate one..."

"...and the one with pink frosting that I really wanted... and the jelly-filled one."

"Bloody hell! Well, I assure you, had they been crumpets, I would have enjoyed them much more!"

"Sure you would've..." ALfred polished off his fifth doughnut, and took a long sip of his coffee, "I can't believe you actually drink instant coffee. Is it really that

hard to put some grounds in a filter and switch on the coffeepot?"

"What's wrong with instant coffee? It tastes the same."

"It definitely does not taste the same. Trust me, I'm American."

"I noticed."

They were interupted by the door opening to reveal a muddy, soaking wet Owain, being held up by Aiden, grinning from ear to ear.

"Welcoom haem oir school's new rugby champion!" The Scot called loudly, half-carrying Owain to the sofa. Owain too, was grinning like mad, and Arthur noticed he was

wearing a rugby kit, though it was soaked in mud. He cringed as it touched the sofa, even though the piece of furniture was hopelessly dirty as it was.

"What happened?" ALfred asked, offereing Owain a doughnut, which he took appreciatively.

"Ye shoold've seen it! He tauld me he wanted tae try it fur th' rugbae team, reit? An' Ah decided tae humur th' kid an' gang wi' heem, coz Ah've ne'er seen heem laeve

th' sofa, except tae git food. But he gits on his kit, an' goes it thaur, an' jist beats everyun'! It was amazin'. Ah wooldnae be surprised if he was team cahptain,

th' only other 'un that cam close tae heem was 'at bloke frae New Zealain. Wat's his nam?" Owain blushed and muttered something, but his mouth was full of doughnut,

so Aiden lit a cigarette and continued, "Anyways it was fantastic! You shoold've been thaur."

Owain, his face flushed with adrenaline and pride, leaned back on the sofa, making Arthur cringe again, but also smile a bit. He'd only known the boy for a week, but

Owain had grown on Arthur and he was glad the boy had something to be good at other than watching Doctor Who as if his life depened on it.

"Sae," Aiden sat down next to Alfred, helping himself to the last doughnut in the box, "Ah was thinkin', since classes start day efter tomorrah, we shoods have a party

tae celebrate uir lest night o' freedom. Jist th' four ay us..." he looked up, "And ye can come too, ALfred."

"And be completely hungover for the first day of class?" Owain looked up, a smile still spread across his face.

"Ah dun get hungover!" Aiden scoffed, "An' neither dis Patrick, if you huvnae noticed," In the past few days, Patrick had consumed more alcohol than most people drink

in a month, and every morning he'd be up early, calming drinking his Irish breakfast tea as if nothing had happened. Arthur had been shocked when he realized the first

morning he'd met the Irish boy hadn't been a fluke.

"Party in the English...wait, British dude's house!" Alfred called out, jumping up. Arthur looked up, more than a little surprised that his geography lesson had

sunken in.

"Yea tha's right!" Aiden jumped up as well, high-fiving Alfred.

Arthur began to protest, but Alfred had already barelled out the door, calling, "See ya tomrrow!"

"There's no stopping him now..." Owain tried, and failed, to sound grim.

Arthur cursed, "Well we may as well do this properly. I'll make scones!"

Owain and Aiden shrugged to eachother.

"I'm gonna go clean up and take off this muddy clothing." Owain stood up, "After I'm done I've got the Doctor Who boxed set, if you want to watch it!"

Aiden patted him on the shoulder, half jokingly and half concerned, "We'll see, Owain."

***

"Do you smell something burning?"

"Arthur did say he was cooking something..."

"Nae, come on, It's yer go, Owain."

"Seriously, Aiden, I think Patrick's right. I do smell something burning.

Owain stood up from their game of poker, stepping over the cards and pieces of cuttlery they were using as poker chips, and peered around the door.

He swore to himself.

"Ah don't speak Welsh, but I don't think tha' was a nice wurd..."

"Guys, this isn't good..."

As the two boys joined Owain at the door, they saw, for the second time since they'd moved in, the kitchen, billowing with black smoke.

"It's fine! Go back to whatever you're doing! I have it under control!" Arthur, wearing a singed apron and a pair of blackened oven mits emerged from the cloud to speak to them, but soon disappeared, coughing into the smoke.

"Ah," Aiden marched into the kitchen, dragging a reluctant Patrick and Owain behind, "Am stagin' and intervention." He pushed the two confused looking boys onto the sofa, then continued into the smoke, pulling a protesting Arthur onto the third cushion. He then breathed in deeply, and entered the smoke once more.

There was silence, then the sound of Aiden sliding up the latch and opening the window, an fanning the smoke out. The room began to clear, and Aiden made his way back around the sofa, and sat himself down on the coffee table, facing the other three. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and launched into a speech.

"Okay. Weel, clearly this whole cooking thing isnae workin'. We've bin lucky Alfred ur his brother ur whoever runs this place didn't install fire alarms. But serioosly, if whenever we cuik we jist create the smoke monster frae LOST, we need tae make some rules."

"Rules like what?" Arthur asked, cradling a blackened piece of something (scone?) to his apron.

"Rules like Arthur shoodn't be allowed tae touch the oven unless we all want tae breath smoke an' become asthmatics an' die!"

"Says the chain smoker." Patrick rolled his eyes.

"Quiet!" Aiden glared at the Irish boy, "But I'm serious aboot Arthur."

"Hey! You nearly burnt the place down as well! How about we all avoid cooking?"

"Excuse me, I cook just fine!" protested Owain.

"Yea if you like leeks in your omelettes..." Patrick scoffed.

"What else are you supposed to put in an omelette?"

Their bickering was cut off by the door slamming open - apparently Alfred had not learned to knock.

"Hey British dudes! I'm here for the party! And I brought company!"

AN: …. Thanks everyone who's reading this, I was shocked at all the story alerts I recieved right after posting the last chapter (especially because nothing in particular happened) I cut this one a bit short because it was getting long and it's late here. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and favorited this, it's what's motivating me to write more! If you want, let me know what you think or what characters you'd like to see more of...


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Arthur thought he was going to die. Someone was making a horrid clanging noises and it was making him feel like his skull was splitting open. He opened his eyes slightly, cursing the light pouring in from the open window. He heard whistling, two voices speaking lowly in the kitchen, and smelled something sweet cooking. He's better get up before Aiden burned down the...wait, why was he sleeping on the floor? He attempted to stand, decided the effort required was currently beyond him, flopped back onto the floor, and began crawling towards the kitchen.

"Look who's hungover!" the strong American accent made him look up.  
"Alfred...?"  
"Classes start in half an hour" Patrick called out, "We were going to wake you up, but looks like you're already up."  
"Awake, yes, up, not so much." Alfred laughed, reaching out a hand to Arthur.  
Arthur grumbled unintelligibly as he was pulled to his feet.  
"Morning," Owain called out cheerfully. Still in his sheep printed pajamas, he sat at the table and picked up a newspaper (Since when did they get the newspaper?) And began reading, "Breakfast smells good."  
"Bloody hell," Arthur murmured, "Am I the only one in this house that gets hungover?"  
Patrick grinned, "Looks like it, though to be fair Owain could get drunk on a spoonful of anything remotely alcoholic."  
"Aiden looked pretty bad when he left for class." Alfred offered, but he left some of his 'miracle hangover cure' for you, and I made pancakes."  
Alfred helped Arthur over to the table, which the Englishman used to rest his head on. Owain chuckled and flipped to the next page of the paper.  
"Here ya go!" Alfred placed a plate of the American breakfast in front of Arthur, and offered a lare jar of maple syrup ("My brother owns a farm so I get all I want for free!") While Patrick poured him a glass of a greyish-greenish liquid.  
"I know it looks digusting, but Aiden swears by it. And it seemed to help him. Don't ask me what he put in it though, I was too afraid to ask."  
Arthur held his nose and took a tiny sip, "Bollocks! That's...intensely alcoholic!"  
Owen looked up, "Not that this helps, but knowing Aiden that's probably the idea."  
"Okay, no more of that before class," Alfred swept up the glass and poured it hastily out the open window, "Eat my pancakes!" He created another stack and placed it in front of Owain.  
The Welsh boy smiled, placing his newspaper down and began eating hurriedly.  
"Come on, Arthur, you've got to go to class in fifteen minutes. Eat something."  
In truth, the pancakes did seem to help a bit, though Arthur would never admit it to Alfred. But something unsettling was beginning to form in his mind.  
"So, um, what happened last night?"  
They all turned to look at him.  
" You don't remember?"  
"Not anything?"  
"Well, Alfred came with someone who looked an awful lot like him..."  
"My brother."  
"Yea, and then we were talking about things and... I dunno it's all a bit fuzzy."  
"That's probably not healthy." Owain commented casually, finishing off his pancakes, "You should cook for us more often, Alfred. Next time, we could make leek pancakes!"  
Patrick groaned, "Owain go to class."  
"Hey, it's your loss." Owain got up, ruffled his hair and headed for the door.  
"Owain, you're still wearing your pajamas. And they have sheep on them."  
Owain looked down, as if noticing his clothes for the first time, blushed slightly, and shuffled back into his room.  
"Don't change the subject, what happened?" Arthur managed to finish off his second pancake.  
"Want some coffee?" Alfred handed him a cup, his face turning an odd shade of pink.  
"Hows your hangover? Feel any better?" Patrick picked up his jumper from the sofa and put it on, "Look at the time, better get going!"  
"Oh yea, me too. I've got a class on American history at 8:30!"  
"Bye, Arthur!"  
They both exited, Alfred carrying his plate of pancakes along with him.  
The slamming door threatened to split his skull open. He groaned.  
A disgruntled Owain appeared for a second time in the hall.  
"What just happened?"  
"You know," Arthur blinked, "I'm not quite sure. Though I suppose I'd better get to class. He stood up, swaying slightly, grimaced, and reached for his jacket, "where are you headed?"  
"I've got a lecture in half an hour, want me to walk with you?" he ran his hands hastily through his curly hair and grinned, grabbing a battered notebook and a jumper from the coffetable.  
Arthur groaned as his head felt about to split open but knodded to Owain with a small smile.  
"So what did happen last night?"  
"You don't remember?"  
"Er, not really. Oh bloody hell was it embarassing? Is that why they left? Did I... Alfred... oh god... not that I'd ever think of..." He buried his face in his hands.  
"Um, I don't really know what you're talking about, but it wasn't like that. I mean, if you think a recreation of the Eurovision Song Contest by a bunch of drunk teenagers is embarassing, then I guess you'd be embarassed. But Aiden and Alfred made bigger fools of themselves than you did."  
"They had a... a singing contest?"  
"Yea, not what you'd expect from such manly men, eh?" Owain winked, chuckling and holding the door open for Arthur, "I'll tell you about it on the way."  
Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, blushing at his initial reaction, and followed Owain out the door to his first class.

*******  
**Author's Note:**  
**Thanks to everyone who reviewed/favorited this silliness,**  
**While writing this chapter I experienced some magor writer's block, but I have plans for the next one, so that should be up soon. Also I am no longer actually in the UK, as I was when I started this so I am less inspired by silly stereotypes that occur daily. If you have anything you'd like to add, please comment and give me some inspiration.**  
**Also I;d just like to make it clear that this story is going to just be a collection of fun conversations and shenanigans that take place in the apartment, not an extensive or complicated plot, but short pieces of brotherly fun. I have this whole college AU for these characters in my head and so it's fun to get a little but down on paper.**  
**Thank you all for reading!**


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